Fired Up

Fletcher, but I finally realized it just wouldn’t work.”
    “And what comes after serial monogamy?”
    “Celibacy.”
    He felt blindsided again. “Celibacy?”
    “There’s a kind of freedom in the celibate lifestyle.”
    “Yeah? I hadn’t heard that.”

11
    HE PARKED ON THE STREET IN FRONT OF THE BUILDING THAT housed Harper Investigations. Chloe got out before he could open the door. Energy crackled in the air around her. It kept his senses aroused and on edge.
    She reached into one of the trench coat pockets and pulled out her keys. An odd looking gadget came out with the keys and fell to the sidewalk. There was a muffled clank of metal. He picked up the small high-tech device and held it to the streetlight.
    “I’m not even going to ask,” he said, handing it back to her, “because it looks like a very fancy lock pick and is probably highly illegal.”
    “It was a birthday gift.”
    “Another ex-boyfriend?”
    “No, my cousin Abe.”
    “Your family gives interesting gifts.”
    She opened the door and stepped into the tiny lobby. He followed her inside and shut the door. Together they started up the stairs. Chloe gripped the banister tightly, half hauling herself up the steps. When he took her other arm she did not protest.
    He knew immediately that the physical contact was a mistake. It intensified the sexual urgency that was heating his blood, stirring things deep inside him. He got a sudden vision of taking her right there on the stairs. Not a hallucination, he realized, more like an almost overpowering need.
    They paused on the second floor so that she could rest.
    “This is embarrassing,” she muttered. “Didn’t realize I was so out of shape.”
    “You’re exhausted,” he said. “Monroe is a big man. How far did you drag him?”
    “He was in the living room when I arrived.”
    He’d seen enough of the house to know that she’d exerted a lot of effort to get Monroe all the way into the front hall. And then there was the business of having a gun pointed in her face, her dog getting shot and her being hit with a blast of nightmares.
    “You’ve had a rough night,” he said.
    “You know, now that you mention it—”
    Rose appeared on the third-floor landing.
    “I just talked to the vet hospital,” she said. “Hector is okay, but they knocked him out to stitch him up and he’s still sleeping. They said we can pick him up in the morning. Are you all right, Chloe? You look like you’re going to crash right there.”
    “Not,” Chloe said, hauling herself up another step, “before I get that drink. And a shower. I definitely need a shower first.”
    Jack took her arm again and more or less levitated her up the stairs to the third floor. Rose opened a door.
    “Home, sweet home,” Chloe muttered. “You’ll have to excuse me. I can’t stand the smell of smoke a minute longer.”
    She vanished through the doorway. Rose followed. Jack considered for a moment and concluded that no one had told him to leave or bothered to shut the door in his face. That amounted to something of an invitation. He walked into the apartment and closed the door behind him.
    The room was very non-Seattle. It was drenched in the rich, warm colors of the Mediterranean Coast. The walls that weren’t red brick were painted in deep shades of amber and ochre. The carpet was patterned with an abstract design done in saffron and rust- red. The honey-colored sofa was covered with a rainbow of throw pillows. Lush green plants in red ceramic pots stood near the windows.
    Rose returned with a pile of clothing that smelled strongly of smoke.
    “Chloe likes color,” she explained. “Lots of it.”
    “I can see that,” he said.
    He thought about his own cold, steel-and-concrete condo. Everyone said it suited him. He had a feeling it was not necessarily a compliment.
    “You can clean up in the kitchen,” Rose said. She motioned him toward the sink. “I’m going to put these in the washing machine.”
    “Thanks.” What he really needed was a shower, but he didn’t want to go home just yet. He wanted to stay here near Chloe until she kicked him out.
    There is a certain kind of freedom in celibacy.
    Like hell.
    He rolled up his sleeves and ran the water in the sink. Rose disappeared into a tiny laundry room. He heard the washer start. When she returned a moment later she opened a cupboard and took down a bottle of red wine.
    “I thought private investigators always drank whiskey,” he said.
    “Chloe